Became the Patron of Villains Chapter 329 : In the Name of Sloth (2)

“How much longer until we get there?”

“We should arrive shortly at this speed.”

A full week had passed since Alon set out toward Ashtalon.

He failed to recognize that the disturbances in Ashtalon stemmed from the emergence of the Sin of Sloth because of three key reasons.

The monsters were one such factor.

Despite the story veering off in numerous directions from its original path, Alon understood that the Sins’ forms and aims stayed largely unchanged.

To put it simply.

No matter how drastically the plot might shift due to a butterfly effect, their core intentions remained consistent with what Alon knew.

As per his knowledge, the Sin of Sloth avoided slaying monsters.

Its victims were invariably humans and fellow sentient beings; it steered clear of creatures deemed monsters by the Allied Kingdoms.

Moreover, the Black Territory played a vital role.

Right from the Sin of Sloth’s inception, the Black Territory started seeping into the surface world.

Thus, whenever whispers emerged about the Black Territory invading the surface, it signaled the Sin of Sloth’s presence beyond doubt, yet pinpointing it otherwise proved challenging.

The Sin of Sloth and the Black Territory were bound together, forming the very essence of that Sin’s might.

“Evan, what’s the latest update?”

“Folks have been flocking here since Ashtalon called for help.”

“Quicker than I anticipated.”

“Usually, like you foresaw, they’d drag their feet, but King Shtalian V must’ve dangled an impressive incentive.”

“An impressive incentive?”

“Yeah. From the rumors I caught... the precise term escapes me, but it’s supposedly an abyssal core free of drawbacks.”

“An abyssal core free of drawbacks...?”

“That’s right.”

“That alone raises red flags.”

“Word is the benefits are genuine, so everyone’s rushing in. The Mage Tower’s involved too, naturally.”

Evan gave a shrug, prompting Alon to glance over instinctively.

A band of mages journeyed alongside Alon to Ashtalon, and within that group, Sharan and Celaime chatted animatedly.

“Having so many folks around ought to make tackling the Sin simpler than earlier, don’t you think? Or has it been sorted out already?”

“What makes you say that?”

“A couple more powerhouses showed up, and I’ve heard two of Caliban’s swords reached Ashtalon already. They might’ve handled it. Rumor has it they charged in with a massive force.”

As Alon observed the mages, Evan pressed on with his briefing.

After some moments, Alon finally voiced his thoughts.

“Sheer numbers won’t halt it.”

“I agree. Even three powerhouses bit the dust... though the troops might tip the scales.”

Evan, on the verge of mentioning how numbers count in warfare, halted abruptly, as if a bitter memory resurfaced.

“...Yeah, it could prove tough.”

He was spot on. Back then, without Rine’s aid, vanquishing the Sin would’ve been out of reach.

While Alon sank into contemplation, time slipped by.

“We’re here.”

Finally, Alon and his companions entered the Kingdom of Ashtalon.

And soon after.

“Ah—”

Alon unwittingly released a quiet sigh.

He wasn’t alone in that.

Every soul perched on the cliff gazing down at the Kingdom of Ashtalon reacted similarly.

It made perfect sense.

The spectacle of Ashtalon before them was—

“...This isn’t merely grave; it’s a total disaster.”

“It truly is.”

The horror warped their faces in dismay.

Alon gaped at the scene in stunned silence.

The Black Territory loomed so near that it could swallow Ashtalon within mere days.

The woods and meadows drowned in it were soaked in crimson blood.

A pervasive reek of gore hung in the atmosphere, while shapeless masses of meat—not quite zombies—lumbered sluggishly, slaughtering one another.

Merely one horde.

Yet labeling it “merely” a horde...

The synchronized motions and the glimpses through their gazes.

All pointed to the atrocities unfolding within that Black Territory.

For a time, Alon and the rest stood frozen in place, paralyzed.

***

Within the Kingdom of Ashtalon, Alon crossed paths with known figures.

“Oh! Master!”

“Brother!”

Seolrang and Radan came first.

“Brother—!”

“Marquis—!”

“Saint, and Filian.”

Yuman and Filian followed.

And at last.

“Marquis~!”

“Eliban, you’re here as well.”

“Given the mess! I’m thrilled to reunite with you...!”

Eliban’s sunny expression clashed with the ongoing peril.

His upbeat vibe stood in stark opposition to the grim looks on the others’ faces.

That notion flickered through Alon’s mind as he eyed their gear, before addressing Eliban.

“When did you get here?”

“Two days back.”

“By chance, about the circumstances—”

Mid-question, he grasped he didn’t need to finish.

“We’re pulling out.”

“You can’t be for real?!”

“What? Which bit doesn’t add up?”

“The plea for aid from the Allied Kingdoms!”

He’d already witnessed the turmoil in the strategy session.

“A plea for aid! Obviously I’m aware! I, Count Minmanmar from the Colony Kingdom, brought troops and Baba Yaga here to answer that call!”

“Then why declare that!”

“Because the aid won’t make a difference!”

Count Minmanmar shot a fierce glare at Duke Bemanta of the Ashtalon Kingdom, his debate partner, then jabbed a finger toward the Black Territory beyond.

“See that! It’s practically at our gates! How exactly do you intend to combat it?!”

“As I’ve explained, our probes show that halting the Black Territory requires piercing to its heart beyond—”

“It’s not as if we skipped trying! Can’t you spot what’s out there?”

The count pounded the table hard enough to splinter it, then gestured sharply.

There, grotesque flesh clumps ripped into each other with robotic precision.

“Those abominations... they were our fighters! We attempted scouting the core exactly as you suggested, and this is the result! They entered equipped with anti-magic relics, following your guidance!! And ended up like that—!”

“I spoke no falsehoods!”

“Ha! Sure! But you omitted how those relics wouldn’t hold beyond ten minutes!”

“The probes weren’t complete yet—!”

“Regardless, I’m withdrawing! This is a blatant suicide mission! I refuse to sacrifice my men pointlessly!”

“Count me in for departure.”

“Sir Kerma! Not you too—!”

Duke Bemanta’s outcry met Kerma, the fourth sword of Caliban, shaking his head.

“Count Minmanmar hits the mark completely. We’re powerless here. Unless the kingdom finds a way to counter the Black Territory—”

Everything else appeared pointless.

Kerma murmured to himself, deepening the creases on Duke Bemanta’s brow.

Such was the severity of the crisis.

Those who’d probed the Black Territory somewhat now sought to retract their backing.

In the midst of this chaos, Yuman plunged into heavy reflection.

His countenance grew gloomier than before.

Alon averted his eyes from the Saint and fixed them on the Black Territory.

It mirrored the original tale and the game he recalled.

The Sin of Sloth amplified its power as the Black Territory expanded.

In the source material too, delays in player readiness bolstered the Sin, leading many to dive in hastily without prep.

Yet here, it wasn’t the initial or middle phases—it was the endgame.

Worse, it was the Sin’s peak strength stage.

Thus, the Sin confronting Alon now might rival or surpass the version he’d pictured from the start.

That explained it.

“Might I have the floor briefly?”

With inner strife erupting now, victory odds would plummet to zero, so he interjected, discreetly stirring his mana.

The tension hung thick in the air.

He doubted one remark would swiftly ease it, hence his intent to boost his voice with mana.

But then.

“Ahem, if Marquis Palatio desires to address us—”

Before mana could flow—

“We’ll hear him out.”

“Ahem—”

The assembly hushed promptly, clearing throats.

“......?”

Alon blinked in brief confusion but awkwardly dispersed his mana.

“Hmm—”

In the hushed meeting hall, he mulled over his opening words.

“First off, I possess a strategy.”

With that opener, his thoughts whirled.

Naturally, from their viewpoint, accepting Alon’s claim outright would be tough.

These arguers had reached the kingdom days prior and grasped the Black Territory’s absurdity fully.

Hence, skepticism or irritation toward Alon’s assertion was expected.

Though tasked with convincing them, pressure barely weighed on him.

He might not grasp eliminating the Black Territory entirely, but he held the key to averting disaster.

As Alon prepared to weave persuasive phrases—

“If Marquis Palatio holds a strategy, it merits our attention.”

Count Minmanmar, fiery moments earlier, advanced.

“......?”

Alon found himself startled anew.

Still.

“Indeed, Marquis Palatio deserves our faith.”

“??”

“I suspected he’d bring a fix, and here it is.”

“???”

Once more, they offered unreserved (?) endorsement.

In this unforeseen turn, Alon scanned the nobles’ visages.

Trust shone purely from them.

And so.

“Naturally, I figured Master had a scheme.”

“Brother’s got this, for sure—”

“Just like Brother!”

“Marquis, you’re incredible...!”

“As expected~”

Everyone in the hall extended solid faith over doubts.

As though declaring, ‘We trusted you from the beginning!’

This allowed Alon to seize the room’s reins with minimal effort.

Paradoxically, the rock-solid backing stirred a touch of nausea in him.

Only Evan caught Alon’s subtle unease.

***

The following day.

“So that’s the famed Pirate King’s vessel.”

Beyond Ashtalon’s ramparts.

Count Minmanmar gawked upward at the enormous skyborne ship.

He wasn’t solitary in that.

“That’s—”

“Unbelievable.”

“What magic powers it?”

“Modern spells couldn’t achieve that—”

The troops and sorcerers summoned outside Ashtalon’s walls per Alon’s summons also ogled the aerial craft in wonder.

While mages expressed awe, the soldiers’ moods stayed dour.

The vast array of fighters assembled comprehended all too well the Black Territory’s terror, now nearly upon them.

A lone hovering vessel couldn’t erase their dread of the Black Territory.

The fear and terror it instilled ran that deep in their psyches.

Hence.

Count Minmanmar too lifted his gaze skyward with mixed feelings, mulling Marquis Palatio’s outlined plan from yesterday.

Right then.

“......Brother, Rebo’s hit the highest it can go. Shall we ascend further?”

“No need, this height suffices.”

“Got it.”

On the vessel with Radan, Alon drew a steady breath and advanced to the prow.

—Hoo—

Upon reaching the front, a fierce, icy gust whipped against his back.

He gazed wordlessly at the shrunken world below, resembling a tiny diorama where all seemed distant and otherworldly.

Then Alon parted his lips gradually.

“Basiliora.”

[Speak.]

“Prepared?”

[Whenever you are.]

“And Blackie?”

[Meow-!]

With Basiliora and Blackie’s assured replies, Alon directed his sight to the Black Territory.

Alon accepted this with composure.

The peril had surpassed his game encounters.

Unlike the prior overhead Apostle assault, this empowered Sin of Sloth meant aerial entry via Rebo into the territory carried risks.

In a game, the “Game Over” prompt would’ve flashed already.

True, in a game.

But Alon’s reality wasn’t a game.

Thus, hope lingered.

Under normal circumstances, drawing out the Sin of Sloth—now hunkered in its impregnable core—would be impossible.

Alon shaped a hand sign.

His left hand thrust ahead, index and middle fingers outstretched.

Then, drawing on Heinkel’s discussions.

—This diverges fundamentally from Light magic’s framework. Much of Light magic’s phrasing builds to finalize the incantation. Yet this varies. To be precise, it’s less magic and more of a—

“Transformation.”

He uttered the term.

—The element devours light ceaselessly, reshaping molecular bonds, and siphons heat nonstop to birth a sun, correct? But this differs. Precisely, it’s—

The mana molded into a staff slimmed to needle-like thinness.

“Condensation.”

—A technique to transmute mana into tangible power.

The needle, sharpened to near-invisibility in Alon’s vision, compressed further.

“Rotation.”

—Empowering the user to convert any spell into raw physical might and unleash it as a strike.

It whirled at high speed on the spot.

The incantation remained unfinished.

Two more terms awaited.

This phase demanded channeling mana into the formed spell.

“......”

Alon eyed his crafted magic.

It appeared fragile and feeble, liable to dissolve in the gale at any instant.

Even sans mana infusion, its shape wouldn’t alter greatly.

It was unavoidable.

Alon’s mana core paled in size against fellow mages.

Thus, this mana-guzzling spell mismatched Alon terribly.

Nevertheless, Alon offered a faint grin.

Magic Bolt never aligned with the original Alon.

That held true.

Paradoxically, though, this spell was—

“Defy the Heavens.”

Ideally fitted for Alon.

Crack-crack-crack—!!!!

The heavens started to warp.